Times of Trouble Page 19

  ‘The Lily Cohen Agency, how can I help you?’ The nasal American accent sounded upbeat and helpful.

  ‘Uh… Hello... I’m looking for Lily Cohen....my name is... Margaret Porter... I’m calling from... Coast FM in Sydney, Australia.’

  I was impressed with my ability to ad lib. It must have worked, because the friendly receptionist asked me to hold on, presumably to find Lily for me. But then she came back on the line, and I thought she was going to say Lily was unavailable.

  ‘Sorry about that, just had to get rid of another call. This is Lily speaking.’

  Oh. Lily’s agency was smaller than I had expected. Lily answered her own phone.

  ‘I’m calling about one of your clients, Allen Berkley. We would like to interview him on air about his upcoming movie ‘I Will Be Golden’.’

  ‘Oh, you do?’

  Lily sounded surprised. I thought this was the sort of call agents would receive all the time. Maybe Lily spent her time setting up these interviews, not fielding requests for them.

  ‘Yes, we’re really excited about the release of the movie in Australia, and we’d like to talk to Allen about his experience in making it’. Did that sound plausible?

  ‘Australia? I don’t think they are releasing there for a few months. Do you really want to talk to him now? It might be better to hold off until it launches in your region’.

  Oh dear. ‘Yeah, we know it’s not going to be here for a while, but our audience loves to hear from actors who are making it big in Hollywood.’

  ‘Well, if you’d really like to talk to him, I’m happy to set up an interview. When do you want to do it?’

  ‘We’re on air this afternoon at 1:00. That is an hour from now. Would Allen be available to talk then?’

  This was asking a lot, but Lily was rustling papers in the background; hopefully she was checking to see if Berkley was free.

  ‘So you are doing the interview live? That isn’t usually how this is done is it?’

  Damn. She was right. Radio stations probably do pre-record interviews with celebrities so they can take out mistakes and boring bits.

  ‘Many stations do,’ I made up... ‘But not ours. We like to make our interviews sound as genuine as possible. Everything on this station goes live to air.’

  ‘Oh, well that’s a challenge isn’t it? I’ll warn Allen to be on his best behaviour. Now you are obviously aware this number is to be kept confidential. Are you ready with a pen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ok, his number is 07838241856. Got that? Now I’ll call him and make sure he is ready. Do you have a number I can call you back on, if I can’t get hold of him?’

  I gave her the Skype account number, and thanked her for her help. I felt bad for judging her photograph so harshly. She was actually a lovely woman, and had just done me a massive favour.

  I was tense and exhausted when I got off the phone. It was great to have this guy’s number but now I had to decide what I would say to him. I felt good that I had managed to go from finding a code in a notebook to actually having a suspect’s mobile number. I was starting to get used to this whole ‘investigating’ thing, and each phone call I made seemed to lessen my fear of using my phone. I could talk to people, even people I didn’t know! I couldn’t wait to tell Liam what I had managed to do on my own.

  It wasn’t often that I did things completely by myself. Back when I was performing in concerts and spending hours practising, I might have looked like I was alone. But I wasn’t. Mum was always there with me. In the audience. Listening from another room. Commenting when I finished. It felt strange not to be sharing what I was doing with her today, but she wasn’t coping well with hearing anything about our search for Sophie. She sounded really anxious when I spoke to her last night. She had kept her head and managed to think of somewhere we could stay, though I knew she just wanted me to come home. But since she also wanted Sophie home, and I wasn’t going home without her, I had no choice but to keep looking until I found her.

  Ever since I got to Sydney, I had been so preoccupied with worry for Sophie, I had hardly thought about Picasso, mum’s money problems, and my crappy career on hold. I also noticed, with a small amount of pride, that I hadn’t taken an HP in two days. I felt like I hadn’t properly exhaled since I opened the letter from the bank. But I wasn’t depressed. Just scared. Everything kept rolling forward in a storm of anxiety, and all I had time to worry about now was the faceless people who were chasing Sophie, and now me. I had to believe I was on the right track to making everything ok.

  My thoughts drifted back to Sophie again. She was always good at believing everything was ok. She never seemed to stress about anything, to the point where mum and I would worry on her behalf. Was she studying enough to pass her exams? Was she going out too late with too many different boys? The only thing I remember her ever getting upset about was dad leaving. She seemed to think if he came home, everything else in her life would be ok.

  Once when I was about 11, I was panicking about a piano exam. I had practised for hours and hours, but still hadn’t played the exam piece without making a mistake. I was sitting at the table, staring at my dinner, too stressed to speak or eat. Sophie breezed in, and asked how my exam practice was going. I just burst into tears. She quietly waited for me to pull myself together and then told me she had a great way of getting rid of stress. She handed me a piece of paper and a pen and told me to write down what I was worried about. I wrote ‘Piano Exam’. Then I dutifully followed her out onto the street, where our wheelie bin was ready to be collected. She screwed up the piece of paper and threw it in the bin. I said I didn’t feel any better. She just laughed, and told me not to worry because the trick wouldn’t work until the next morning. And sure enough, early the next day, as I lay awake fretting about my exam, I heard the garbage truck come down our street. As our bin was lifted from the curb, I pictured the screwed up piece of paper falling out into all the other rubbish, and being driven off down the road. Then I pictured the truck dumping it at the tip, buried amongst piles of things people didn’t want. And suddenly I felt calm. I got out of bed, sat down at my piano and played the piece perfectly. Mum hugged me, and told me how well I would do in the exam. Sophie smiled, as if to say, 'see I told you so’. I never asked whether she wrote down her own worries and put them in the rubbish. Had her silent worry about dad leaving made her leave us? Did she see the plane that took her to London as the huge garbage truck in the sky? And if she had been in my life when I gave up on my dreams, would she have found a way to pull me out of my funk? I probably needed a bit more than a piece of screwed up paper to fix that.

  With a new found determination, I turned back to the Skype page and typed in Allen’s number. I hoped to make it up as I went along, since I had already managed to do so with Lily. The phone rang for so long I felt sure I was about to hear a message bank click in. But then a muffled voice came on the line. It was crackly and distant, but it was him.

  ‘Allen Berkley speaking’.

  He had a BBC English accent, slightly pompous and snobby. But he didn’t sound scary or mean. What had I expected? A threatening voice?

  ‘Hi Allen, this is... Margaret speaking... I’m calling about the radio interview I set up with your agent.’

  What was I doing? I wasn’t doing a radio interview, I was confronting a suspect!

  ‘Yes, I spoke to Lily. I was just heading home so I could be somewhere quiet when you called, but I’m still driving. Can you hear me ok?’

  He must have been wondering why I wasn’t saying anything. I gulped, preparing myself for the sudden turn I was about to give to the conversation.

  ‘Look, Allen, this isn’t really Margaret from Coast FM. I’m ringing to find out what you know about some crimes that have occurred in London and Sydney. I want to know how you have been involved.’

  Would this be the point a guilty person would show anger? Or would they go into cover up mode, and try to divert me from the truth? Or simply hang up?


  ‘Who is this?’ he asked.

  There was a small amount of anger, but also a bit of fear. That was odd.

  ‘I won’t tell you who I am, but I will tell you I am a good friend of Molly’s. And I’m trying to make sure you aren’t the reason she is in danger.’

  ‘Molly? Do you mean Sophie? Who is this?’

  How did he know Sophie’s real name? I was speechless while I tried to work out whether to tell him who I was.

  ‘I told you, I’m a friend of Sophie’s... I mean Molly... I mean...’ Shit. I was stuffing this up.

  ‘This isn’t Ellen is it? You’ve got the same Aussie accent Sophie once had...’

  He sounded suddenly relaxed, the fear completely erased from his voice. How the hell did he work out who I was? My pause in responding gave him the confidence to keep talking.

  ‘Ellen, I know Sophie. She’s a close friend of mine. How did you find me? Is Sophie ok? I haven’t heard from her in weeks.’

  He sounded genuinely concerned, and I suddenly realised it was possible he wasn’t a client of Sophie’s, but was really a friend.

  ‘Your name was coded in a notebook of Sophie’s, with a sum of money next to it. I thought you might have been blackmailed by her... and be trying to get revenge.’

  ‘Why would she be blackmailing me? I lent her money as a friend. She needed it to get herself and another girl out of London. They had to buy new passports, and flights. She promised to repay me, but I don’t care. I just want to know she’s safe. Is she ok? And what do you mean about crimes?’

  He had me convinced. This made sense. There was no reason why the notebook only listed blackmail victims. Maybe Sophie wanted to pay everyone back, and Allen was just another debt record. The phone line suddenly went fuzzy, and Allen’s voice started cutting in and out. I could just hear him enough to understand he was asking me to call him back in fifteen minutes, when he would be home. Then the phone dropped out.

  I sat in silence, watching the clock on the computer click over, wanting to hear more about what Allen had to say. He knew who I was now. Was this a mistake? I needed proof he was a friend of Sophie’s. I was impressed he remembered she had a sister called Ellen. Sophie wouldn’t have told that to someone she didn’t trust. What could I ask to make sure he was what he said he was? 11 minutes had ticked past, which felt like an eternity. Not able to wait any longer, I redialled him on the Skype screen. Allen picked up immediately, and although the line wasn’t very clear, I could hear he was no longer in his car.

  ‘Is that you Ellen?’ he asked, sounding more confident than when I spoke to him before.

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Look, I’m sorry to be so suspicious, but can I ask you a couple of questions to prove you are a friend of Sophie’s, and not one of the people who are after her?’

  ‘I totally understand. You are right to be suspicious. Sophie had dealings with some very dodgy people.’

  That was an understatement.

  ‘So, Sophie told you my name. Did she ever tell you her parents’ names?’

  ‘I can’t remember your dad’s name. I know he left your mum when you guys were teenagers. I think I remember your mum’s name is Sandy, or Sandra? My memory’s not great.’

  ‘Her name is Sandra. What is Sophie’s favourite band?’

  ‘That’s an easy one. The Beatles. I can’t hear their music without thinking of her.’

  ‘Ok, I believe you now. How did you know Sophie?’

  This guy was genuine. He explained he was Sophie’s boyfriend, back when she first arrived in London. They had met at an audition, and had become inseparable, falling in love and moving in together. Allen started to get good parts in well known plays. But Sophie struggled to get anything more than extra parts. After a few months, without even a speaking role to her name, she took a job at The Backstage cafe in Soho to make ends meet. After a few more months, Allen realised it wasn’t the only job she had; she had started working for Carla. When he confronted her about it, she was devastated he had found out, and they had a huge fight. He tried to tell her she didn’t have to do that for a living, and he would look after her. But he wasn’t making much money as an actor either, and Sophie was convinced she would get better roles herself soon, and wouldn’t have to work as a prostitute for long. But she kept doing it, and Allen couldn’t cope. So they broke up.

  Sophie went to Carla’s as a live-in worker, and eventually started dating Danny. But Allen and Sophie stayed in contact, behind Danny’s back. Allen always worried about Sophie, and still really cared about her. But she had moved on, and only contacted him infrequently, usually when she was upset about something. He would come and find her, and take her out for a meal, making her feel like life was back to normal for a short while. It made me so sad to think of Sophie throwing away her relationship with Allen to become a prostitute. Allen had gone on to make a real acting career, something Sophie must have been so jealous of. He said even after all this time he still hadn’t had a relationship like he had with Sophie. She sure had a knack of breaking hearts.

  Allen hadn’t heard from Sophie for over a year when she called out of the blue three months ago, wanting to meet up. He was surprised to hear she needed money, as last time they spoke she said she earning loads of cash. But this time she seemed frightened, and said she had to disappear. She had told him ‘something bad’ had happened to Danny. Allen hadn’t got many details out of her. But he could tell ‘something bad’ sounded like either ‘hurt’ or ‘killed’, and Sophie was in danger of the same. He had already finished filming ‘I Will Be Golden’, and had enough money to help her out. So he handed it over, and then soon after, moved to LA, hoping every day to hear from Sophie that she was safe. I felt bad for Allen, both because he obviously still cared about Sophie and because she had taken his money.

  ‘I’m sorry Allen, it seems like you’ve done your best to help Sophie. I’m so worried about her. Can you think of anything else that might help me find her? Or the people who are after her? Did she give you any clues as to who was out to get her?’

  Allen thought about it for a while; he seemed desperate to give me something of use. But he couldn’t come up with anything.

  ‘Don’t you be sorry Ellen. I’m so relieved to hear Sophie’s ok. The only thing I can think of that she said about the trouble she was in was that it had something to do with a scam that Danny organised. I never liked Danny. He should never have encouraged Sophie in that career. When I pushed her on what the scam was, she admitted the blackmail stuff. But she didn’t tell me anything about who was involved.’

  ‘I know the name of one of the people she blackmailed. He’s gone to the police. A politician called Matthew Harrison-Brown. But I don’t think he’s behind the murders.’

  ‘Really? Harrison-Brown was one of them? God, who would have thought?’

  I wondered if Allen was picturing Sophie, his old girlfriend, with that horrible twerp Harrison-Brown.

  ‘There was another name in Sophie’s notebook too, but I’ve had trouble decoding it.’

  ‘What have you come up with?’

  ‘W.S Holland is the only thing I’ve been able to make sense of. But I can’t work out who W.S Holland might be. I don’t have an actual first name so I have no idea where to start looking for him.’

  ‘Oh? Bill Holland. His real name is William.’

  ‘Who is he?’ My voice leapt with hope.

  ‘He owns nightclubs. But there’s rumours that his clubs are just a front for other things, like a very profitable drugs trade. I know Sophie’s worked for him before. She mentioned to me ages ago that she always drinks in his bars for free.’

  This was a very good lead. It had to be him. But would a drug lord be worried about blackmail for prostitution? Maybe Sophie knew more about him than she should have. Interesting, but scary too.

  ‘I think we’re onto something. Thanks so much Allen. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me. Sorry again for accusing you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m
so glad you are onto the case. Please keep me updated. I would really like to hear that you find her.’

  ‘Will do. Thanks again. And good luck with the movie.’

  Another step forward. Not quite what I expected, but it was good news.

  Chapter 24

  I was staring at my search for ‘Bill Holland London Nightclubs’ when I heard the front door open. My body went tense, momentarily alarmed at who might be walking in. But then I remembered that the door had been locked, and it had to be my uncle coming home.

  ‘Hi, I hoped you’d be here. I left work early. Not much going on, so thought I’d come home and see what you were up to.’

  Andy sat down across from me at the table, carefully diverting his eyes from the laptop screen so as not to pry. But I could sense the curiosity in him. Even though he looked nothing like dad, he was still obviously related to him, slumping himself down into the chair as if he never planned to get up again, just like dad used to. And the way he held his chin in his hand; it was exactly how dad looked when he was thinking.

  With feigned interest and a smile, I asked: ‘How was your day?’

  ‘Pretty boring. I’m working on some new software for wireless internet connections for mobile phones. It’s going nowhere fast.’

  That’s right, he was a computer geek. He looked younger than most 50 year olds. I guess he lived the bachelor life of a 25 year old. There was a long, uncomfortable pause in the conversation as I sat impatiently, trying not to glance at the laptop, and he sat ready to say something, but still searching for the right words.